


No Second Chances

by The_Unnatural_Disaster (havent_got_a_clue)



Series: Reckless Serenade [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Married Sex, Multi, Non Consensual, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havent_got_a_clue/pseuds/The_Unnatural_Disaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the Tumblr Prompt: Chris deals with the aftermath of losing Victoria. Post-season 2.</p><p> </p><p>People are bad. People die. There's hardly a person in Beacon Hills whose hands are entirely clean.  And a man can only take so much, no matter how strong his morals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this is dark. Like, really dark. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Victoria wakes him from a dead sleep, naked and sliding a warm hand down his chest and he smiles sleepily in the darkness.

“Can’t sleep?” He stretches a little, arches into her touch, warm, familiar, comforting, and she props herself up on her elbow. She doesn’t say anything as she pushes the sheet down a little, giving herself more to touch and explore, fingers curling into the soft hair on his bare chest. He reaches up and caresses her cheek, pulls her down for a kiss and doesn’t care that he hasn’t brushed his teeth; the need he’s feeling overtakes any petty concern over early morning breath. Her hand works lower, sliding over the muscles of his belly until she finds his erection straining against his boxers and she cups it, long fingers wrapping around him through the fabric, and he hisses a bit against her lips. She responds with a playful nip to his lower lip and, after all this time, he still can’t believe his luck getting to be with this sexy, formidable creature.

She wants those boxers off and he won’t deny her the unspoken request. He lifts up his hips and she sits up more to strip them away and he doesn’t notice or care where they go. He runs his hands along her side, feeling soft curves and smooth skin, but his gentle attempts to guide her on top of him don’t follow her plan and it’s clear just who is in charge here when she moves down and settles herself between his legs.

She takes him between her lips, all luscious wetness and heat, knowing instinctively at this point in their marriage just how he wants it, swirling her tongue around him and hollowing her cheeks, taking her time to make sure he lasts.

He can feel her hips jerk every time he lets out a moan, knowing every noise he makes gets her wetter and when he reaches down to run his fingers through her hair she squeezes his hip with her free hand.

She knows, of course she knows, before she goes too far and she pulls away, quickly straddling him before he can protest the loss of contact too much. He reaches up and palms her breasts, runs his thumbs over her hard nipples and delights in the small noises and sighs she makes. She rubs herself against his erection and she’s so wet for him already; it would be so easy to slip inside her, make her cry out for him as he thrusts up into her, and, as much as he loves her bossy streak in bed, he’s not going to be able to wait much longer before he takes control and fucks her.

She’s sensing his impatience, though, and how much she’s driving him out of his mind and gives him the teasing promise of relief, lifting up her hips and letting him reach between them to guide himself to her entrance. She shivers on top of him as she lowers herself slowly, torturously, letting him feel just how wet and how tight she truly is, centimeter by centimeter.

“Baby, please....”

He grasps her hips and she rocks them against him, lowering herself all the way and he sighs contentedly. It’s only now that she leans in and kisses him again, continuing the slow rhythm with her hips. He can see her in the moonlight; her eyes are closed in absolute bliss, lips swollen and parted. She is exquisite, divine, and all his.

He knows she is close. Knows from the gorgeous noises she makes; his name, choked, bitten off, litanies of “Oh, God,” and low, breathy moans. Knows from the delicious tightening he feels around him, how much wetter she feels as she moves. She buries her head into the crook of his neck, biting the sensitive flesh there and he holds her close as she shudders against him, picking up the rhythm where she fails and she’s sweating against him and crying out and it’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen after all this time.

“I love you, Victoria.” He whispers it against her cheek.

He thrusts through her aftershocks, gently, so she knows he’ll let her take over when she’s ready again. It doesn’t take long, though, and she’s speeding up, going as deeply as she can just for him and he’s not going to take long no matter how hard he tries to hold out.

She sits up again, letting him caress her breasts as much as he wants and she throws her head back, completely lost in feeling.

He returns his hands to her hips, setting the speed for her and he instantly recoils in shock when he touches fingers that are not hers already resting there.

He tries to sit up, tries to see in the darkness, to protect his wife, but there is a new weight resting on his thighs behind Victoria and he finds himself paralyzed from the belly up. He looks up at her to see she is resting her head on someone’s chest and yet she hasn’t stopped riding Chris. He strains to see, opens his mouth to yell, and the stranger moves from the shadow into the moonlight and it’s Derek Hale, naked, teeth bared and eyes glowing.

He pushes, struggles to move, but Victoria continues her pace and leans into Derek, turning her head up to kiss him and all Chris can do is watch. Derek reaches around and cups her breasts and she moans louder than ever, reaches up and pulls him down to whisper into his ear. His heart is pounding and the sound in his ears, the white noise of anger and panic, drowns out what she says, but Derek responds by running his hand over her stomach, down lower between her legs, and he can see long claws stroke her as she laughs and rocks harder but Victoria cries out suddenly and, in the moonlight, he can see the glint of silver peek out from her chest, dark blood gushing down between her breasts and she freezes in panic. Derek smiles and yanks out the knife, letting her body fall on top of Chris.

He fights to free himself from underneath her, to help her and to kill Derek at the same time somehow. She’s holding him down, even in death. He can’t escape and Derek’s laughing, laughing, as he pulls her off and throws her body to the ground. Derek rears back, red eyes mad with power and bloodlust and claws at Chris’ chest, blood welling up through long gashes in his flesh and he can’t cry out in pain or fear or anger or mourning because he _still can’t move_ and Derek sets his terrifying gaze on Chris and grins, leaning into him, stretching out across him and smearing his blood, Victoria’s blood, between the both of them. Derek licks the blood off Chris’ chest and works his way up to his lips, sliding, forcing his red tongue into his mouth so he can taste it, bitter and metallic.

Derek pulls away, still grinning. “You’re next, Chris. And then I’m coming for Allison.”

Chris tries to fight, to kick, to push up, yell, anything, but Derek tangles himself up with Chris, any small movements he can make swallowed up by Derek’s intimidating size. Derek’s legs wrap and under his own, his arms push up underneath him. He’s suffocating him, squeezing his chest with his considerable weight, and still Derek laughs. He’s choking, gasping for breath, and just as he regains a tiny bit of control over his limbs...

He wakes up. Alone. Wrestling with his sheets. Soaked in sweat and tears stinging his eyes.

It’s 2 am and his wife is dead. His father is dead. His sister is dead. He feels around for the glass of whiskey that helped put him to sleep two hours before and drains it to the last drop.  
The dreams, every night they come, and every night they end the same way. Victoria is dead. Sometimes she dies in fire. Sometimes wolves tear her apart. Sometimes he kills her himself. But, in the end, every time, his wife is dead.

He goes through his usual post-nightmare routine; checking on Allison, fiddling with the weapons he keeps at his bedside, under his pillow, under the bed, and pouring another drink to help lull him back into a sleep where he has his wife, if even for a few moments, but so many nights of just this and it’s lost its effectiveness. And it’s nights like these he finds himself wandering the darkness.

Wolfsbane bullets and his favorite gun make good company in the dark. It’s cold out, probably, but he feels nothing on the outside to match the numbness on the inside.

But every scratch, every twig snap, starts to brings him to a focused alertness he hasn’t felt in a long time.

For the first time in a long time, he feels alive.

He’s going to find Derek Hale.


End file.
